As we stepped into the house, a cacophony of raised voices assaulted my ears. I froze, shocked. The sitting room was ablaze with tension.
Clyde's mom, Aunt Trisha, stood, her face twisted in anger and disappointment, her eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness toward her son.
Anissa sat, tears streaming down her face, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
"How could you let this happen, Anissa?" Aunt Trisha spat, her voice venomous. "You can't even keep your husband satisfied? He's always chasing after other women!"
Anissa's body shook with sobs.
"Where is Clyde?" she pleaded, her voice cracked and broken.
Aunt Trisha's expression turned uglier.
"You think you can keep him? You think you're worthy of my son?"
Clyde strode into the room, his eyes flashing with annoyance.
"Enough, Mother," he growled.
Aunt Trisha's face softened instantly.
"Clyde, baby, I'm just trying to protect you," she cooed.
Clyde's jaw clenched.
"From what? Anissa's incompetence?"
His gaze locked onto Anissa.
Contempt simmered.
Anissa's eyes met his.
Pleading.
But Clyde turned away.
Disinterested.
Aunt Trisha's eyes narrowed.
"Anissa, you're failing as a wife. You're losing my son."
Anissa's tears flowed harder.
Clyde's indifference.
Cut deeper.
I felt a pang of sympathy for Anissa.
Aunt Trisha's venom.
Unsettled me.
Clyde's apathy.
Confused me.
Clyde stepped forward, his voice soothing, calming the tempest that was his mother.
"Mother, please. Calm down," he urged, his tone gentle.
Aunt Trisha's expression softened, concern etched on her face as she turned to him.
"My baby, I just want what's best for you," she whispered.
Then, her gaze shifted to me.
And froze.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Dahlia!" she exclaimed.
She rushed toward me, enveloping me in a warm, tight hug.
"Thank you for bringing my son back," she whispered, gratitude lacing her voice.
Tears sparkled in her eyes as she pulled back.
"I was worried sick," she confessed.
I opened my mouth to protest, to explain.
But Aunt Trisha continued.
"I know Clyde's in good hands," she said.
She smiled, reassurance radiating from her.
"I'll head home now," she announced.
She patted my shoulder.
"Take care of my baby," she entrusted.
Her gaze lingered on Clyde.
Then back to me.
"I trust you, Dahlia," she said.
With that, she turned.
And left.
The room fell silent.
Clyde watched his mother leave.
His expression unreadable.
Anissa remained.
Silent.
Tears dried.
Her eyes haunted.
Clyde's gaze shifted to me.
"Thank you," he said.
His voice low.
Grateful.
I nodded.
Uncertain.
As soon as his mother's door closed, Clyde's expression darkened, his eyes blazing with frustration.
He turned to Anissa, his voice thundering.
"How irritating and annoying you are!" he yelled.
Anissa flinched, her eyes wide with shock and pain.
Tears streamed down her face, but Clyde didn't stop.
"You can't even handle my mother for a day?" he scorned.
"You're supposed to be my wife, not some fragile, helpless creature."
Anissa's tears flowed harder, her body shaking uncontrollably.
But Clyde's irritation grew, fueled by his mother's earlier words.
"You're failing as a wife," he hurled.
"You can't even keep me satisfied."
Anissa's face crumpled.
Clyde's words cut deep.
"You're useless," he spat.
Anissa's sobs filled the room.
Clyde's anger boiled over.
"Stop crying!" he thundered.
"It only makes me angrier."
Anissa's body racked with sobs.
Clyde stormed toward the stairs.
"Fix this, Anissa!" he bellowed.
"Be the wife I need!"
He vanished into his room.
Slamming the door.
Anissa collapsed.
Sobs wracked her body.
I stood.
Frozen.
Witness to the devastation.
The room seemed to vibrate with tension.
Anissa's cries echoed through the silence.
I felt a pang of sympathy.
For the shattered woman.
Before me.
...
As I stepped into the house, an unexpected figure caught my attention. Clyde's mother, Trisha Grey, stood in the living room, her elegant presence commanding the space. However, her tone was sharp, arguing with Anissa.
"What's going on?" I asked, interrupting the tense conversation.
Trisha's eyes locked onto mine, her expression transforming into a warm smile.
"Dahlia, darling!" she exclaimed, opening her arms for a hug.
I returned the gesture, feeling a mix of emotions. Our bond had been strong when Clyde and I dated. I'd often visit her, sharing laughter and stories.
But before she could say anything more, Trisha turned to Anissa.
"Anissa, dear, your decorating skills are...interesting," Trisha said, her voice dripping with condescension.
Anissa's face fell.
"The vase you chose is...bold," Trisha continued.
I intervened.
"Aunt Trisha, let's focus on catching up."
I gestured to the living room.
"Let's sit."
Trisha's eyes sparkled with amusement.
As we sat, Trisha turned to me.
"Dahlia, how was your photoshoot?"
Her tone was pleasant.
But I sensed underlying tension.
Anissa remained quiet.
Hurt.
I attempted to steer the conversation.
"Aunt Trisha, would you like some tea?"
As I stood to fetch the tea.
Trisha leaned in.
Whispering.
"We need to talk, Dahlia."
Her eyes locked onto mine.
"Later."
As I watched, Trisha's gaze sliced through the air, landing squarely on Anissa. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every detail.
"Aunt Trish, please," I intervened, attempting to deflect her criticism with a gentle tone.
But Trisha was relentless, her voice dripping with disdain. "Anissa, dear, you're not even taking care of the house. You're jobless, useless...what do you do all day?"
Anissa's eyes welled up, tears threatening to spill like shattered glass. I swiftly stood, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.
"Aunt Trish, that's enough," I said firmly, my voice steady.
But Trisha's expression remained unyielding, her face a mask of disappointment.
"You can't even cook a decent meal," she pressed on, each word a razor-sharp cut.
Anissa's face crumpled, her body shaking like a leaf. I guided her to the couch, sitting beside her.
"Sit down, Ani. I've got this," I whispered.
Trisha's gaze shifted to me, her eyes softening.
"Dahlia, you're so different," she whispered, her voice laced with admiration.
"A talented actress, beautiful...and still polite." Her gaze flicked to Anissa, the contrast stark.
"Unlike some people," Trisha added, her voice turning cold.
"You started acting later than she, yet look at you now. Famous. Respected." She paused.
"Anissa, on the other hand... "Trisha's sneer deepened.
"Dull, unambitious...and uninspiring." The words hung in the air like a challenge.
I pulled away, my heart racing.
"Aunt Trish, that's not fair," I protested.
"And it's not your place to judge." My voice rose.
Trisha's eyes locked onto mine, a glint of steel.
"I'm just stating facts, dear," she said.
"You outshine her in every way." The words stung.